


Cutthroat favorite

by GarGoyl



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Banter, Eventual Dubcon, Fighting, Historical References, M/M, Mixed feelings, Ottoman Empire, Sadiq is a tease, Underage - Freeform, Violence, but nothing accurate, this looks more dangerous than it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-02-07 02:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12831144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarGoyl/pseuds/GarGoyl
Summary: Ottoman AU! Young royal hostages – graceful, well-educated boys of fine manners - would often make the delight of the Sultan and his Court, yet șehzade Sadiq just had to get the one who was as soothing as a hot iron spike. Not that he really minded. TurkRo fighting, banter, dubcon and an overall exchange of mixed feelings. Rating will probably go up.





	1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

A/N – Hello, everyone! I can’t believe that I’m actually writing this, but I recently discovered Elveo’s artwork on Deviantart and all those old ideas came back to me (seriously, she has absolutely AMAZING artwork – it’s not Hetalia-related but rather historical, plenty of TurkRo and yes, _that_ which she refers to is apparently a true story. I will not rant about Mehmet II and Radu the Fair right now, both because it’s beside the point _and_ because I have mixed feelings about the whole thing, but I thought it’s something very well worth exploring Hetaliawise (since this is the trashcan I won’t be getting out of anytime soon...:)))) Please be advised though that this fic isn’t in any way historically accurate, related to real historical characters or anything of the like. Nope. So just enjoy and leave me your thoughts ;)

**_Warnings_** : language, some mild violence

* * *

 

Topkapi palace was a place built more to the purpose of overwhelming one rather than enchanting them and _șehzade_ Sadiq, having been raised away from the capital, found himself uncomfortable here, surrounded by fancy courtiers and made to attend numerous feasts or listen to endless political debates. He was a man of the sword, lived by his sword and enjoyed time with the army, training or riding out in the open.  The capital of course offered many distractions, but not anything which he would not tire of quickly and then there was this unsettling feeling, almost like a foreboding. As the old Sultan grew weaker day by day it seemed, he as the fourth son – with no real prospects to the throne but considered a threat by his older brothers regardless – was now supposed to watch his back.

This growing tension was something no one ever spoke about, even though Sadiq knew why he’d been summoned from the provinces. His father, sensing his distress, had recommended that he should find some entertainment while he was here and he had suggested the young prince to have a look at the new boys. In truth, Sadiq did not share the rest of the Court’s interest in the young royal hostages sent to Istanbul by their respective countries as a sign of goodwill towards the empire (and a subtle means of obtaining influence and privileges), but his sense of prudence advised him to humor the unpredictable Sultan.

As he followed a servant down a spotless marble hall, the prince nearly had a flinch remembering Murat Bey – the master of Grace and Fine Arts – who would always find him whenever he ran away from his lessons and would drag him back to be delivered in the hands of his tormentors. At the ripe age of twenty-four, Sadiq was thankfully long past such tribulations, but he was now about to see his old nemesis tormenting others.

He was led into a large, luminous room decorated with thick Persian rugs and several low sofas and cushions, where Murat Bey currently held his lessons for the foreign boys who were to be educated in the Court’s manners and spirit of refinery. Sadiq had not thought to dress up for this encounter – he had not given much thought to this business at all, truth be told – so he was only wearing a mid-thigh fur hemmed vest over his shirt, simple black slacks with his riding boots and almost no jewelry, in stark contrast with the lavish robes and adornments of most courtiers. Still, his tall, lean but muscular frame made an impression upon his arrival and elicited gasps and giggles from the students, who ogled him more or less openly but enough to make him somewhat uncomfortable. Murat Bey though turned with a dark scowl on his powdered face, clearly displeased by the unexpected interruption, and was just about to harshly admonish the intruder before recognizing the young prince.

“ _Efendim_ , what a surprise!” he gushed, seeming to float in Sadiq’s direction while waving his hand quickly to silence the noise. “What brings you here today?”     

“Well, Murat Bey, my father has suggested that the royal hostages entrusted in our care should be given the required attention and I am here to do his bidding,” the prince said with a smile, gaze shifting from the courtier to his students who were lounging on the sofas. Indeed, it seemed that every province and vassal principality had sent its finest young nobles and royals, because the boys were nothing short of exquisite and Murat Bey had them clothed in beautiful silks and velvets, making their youthful grace and often androgynous looks stand out even more. Most of them had long hair, falling in soft waves down their fragile shoulders, and their ears had been adorned with tiny golden hoops.  

“So you are here to choose a favorite,” the master of Grace and Fine Arts deduced. “That is wonderful, _efendim_ , although these blooming flowers have yet to complete their education,” he said. “Perhaps I could make some recommendations?”

Sadiq sighed, glancing around the room and trying to feign at least some interest. His gaze glided indifferently over doe eyes and pink dusted cheeks and eventually discovered two boys sitting in the back of the room, away from the others. Their clothes were visibly less fancy than the others’ and they wore no jewels, and the awed expression of the others also seemed to be lacking from their faces. One of them had raven-black hair cropped very short and dark green eyes contrasting with his milky-pale complexion, while the other had slightly wavy, light brown locks with gold and coppery tinges falling just below his chin and the most astounding red eyes the prince had ever seen.   

“What about those two?” Sadiq asked.

“Ah, _efendim_ ,” the courtier muttered with a hint of apology. “You see, unfortunately not all of these boys were gifted with the grace and good manners which we seek to cultivate to the utmost here… And these two, a Bulgarian and a Wallachian, are really the worst! They are cheeky and rude and make no effort to study the fine arts, they like to drink and always seem to have a knife at the ready… horribly unpleasant, I must say!” 

The prince advanced into the room, ignoring the hushed whispers which had broken out again, drawing closer to the two boys. “Is that so?” he asked neutrally. “You would not learn about the fine arts Murat Bey is trying to teach you?”

“Learn about what, the _fine art of love_?” the raven-haired Bulgarian asked ironically.

In the next moment, a small leather-bound volume of poetry flew past Sadiq and hit Murat Bey straight in the forehead, thrown with impressive precision by the other boy by his side. Shocked gasps erupted in the room, but the Bulgarian laughed shamelessly.

_“BARBARIAN, HOW DARE YOU?! I WILL HAVE YOU WHIPPED, YOU FILTHY INFIDEL!”_ Murat Bey shrieked, a hand pressed against his forehead in a dramatic fashion while the prince poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, fighting back an amused smile. The divine justice had finally descended upon his old nemesis.

Sadiq held his hand up, silencing the string of threats and walked up to the two troublemakers who had stood up, looking ready to attempt an escape. As he did so, he noticed the Wallachian sizing him up, not in an appreciative manner but rather as a fighter would assess a potential opponent, before taking a step back.

“You,” the prince asked. “What is your name?”

“Alin,” the boy replied cautiously.

“Can you fight? How old are you?”

“...yeah. I’m almost sixteen.”

Sadiq nodded slowly, looking thoughtful for a moment, then said it. “Would you like to be my favorite?”

The red-eyed boy blinked a few times, appearing in awe before his expression twisted into an open scowl. “No!” he replied firmly and craned his neck briefly to glance in Murat Bey’s direction. “If you want a favorite, you should choose one of the _breastless girls_ over there,” he said, pointing with his finger. “And besides, aren’t you mixing things up? Do you not know what favorites do? They only play musical instruments, recite poetry and… and _other stuff_. Which _they_ ’d be overjoyed to help you with!” 

The prince grinned. “I know, but that would be too easy. And besides, I like girls who look like girls and boys who look like boys, so I’m afraid that anything _in between_ will not suit my tastes. Also,” he stated, turning slightly to the raven-haired boy who was eyeing him defiantly. “You are not here to learn about the fine arts, you are here to learn _obedience_.”

Sadiq’s smile grew even larger, even as the Bulgarian’s expression turned sour, and he addressed the other troublemaker again. “So, I am giving _you_ the chance to become my favorite, but it will not be that simple. I will test you first and if you pass my test, I will keep you by my side. If you fail though… eh… your body will be sent back to your father in the finest cedar box.” 

With that, the prince turned on his heels and sauntered out of the room, passing by a shocked Murat Bey and briefly patting his shoulder.

“You can at least play the pan flute, can’t you?” he heard the Bulgarian ask his friend.

“N-Not really…”

**_To be continued_ **

_șehzade – prince_

_efendim - master_


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

A/N – Hello my dear readers! Thank you all for the amazing and unexpected attention this story has gotten, considering it’s a crack pairing (although _not entirely_ crack if you look at historical facts, which I will not delve into because, again, mixed feelings about this…). Anyway, I’m back with a new chap, so enjoy ;)

 ** _Warnings_** : _some disturbing stuff, graphic descriptions of violence_

* * *

 

The evening air was still warm and fragrant, the sunlight fading over the rooftops as the prince walked out onto the lavishly decorated balcony of his private apartments.  Sadiq plopped down on the soft cushions of a low sofa, stretching his legs in front of him as he inhaled deeply the soft breeze drifting from the sea. Suddenly, he was slightly worried about this whole thing. It could all go very, _very_ badly.

Truth be told, Sadiq was neither a disobedient son, nor a disrespectful student, but often times the ways in which he chose to be respectful or obedient carried within themselves the seeds of potential disaster. Now, his father had suggested that he take a favorite and entertain himself while in the capital (while he waited for the dice to either be thrown in his favor or for the noose to be tightened around his neck…), and since one thing obviously didn’t entail the other in his books, he should have simply done what he’d been told. He should have chosen one of the boys who had been gawking at him adoringly, just whoever Murat Bey had had a mind to recommend him. _That_ would have been complete obedience to his father and to the rules of the court. But no, Sadiq just _had to_ complicate things, deciding right away that his own personal entertainment should prevail over safety or logic.         

And now, the prince had seriously mixed feelings about the potential outcome of this night, not knowing for certain how he wanted it to end. If the boy passed the test, then Sadiq would be stuck with him and with the (quite painful, he suspected) task of giving him an education in the ways of the Ottoman court (or die trying…). If he didn’t, then the prince’s blatant lie would be exposed – a royal hostage’s life was not his to decide upon, as Murat Bey had naively been led to believe, and also that he had zero intentions of relieving his former teacher of ‘one half’ of his problems by means of any drastic measures. Still, he couldn’t give up the test, or make it any easier – he would lose all credibility and the boy would probably make fun of him openly.   

Light steps and muffled whispers were heard in the room behind him and Sadiq took another deep breath, casually draping an arm over the backrest of the sofa to appear more relaxed, even if his thumb still nervously fiddled with the large gem ring adorning his middle finger.

A servant walked in, carrying a large silver tray with the prince’s dinner which was laid on the coffee table in front of him and right behind him Sadiq saw the Wallachian boy, Alin, who appeared to have fallen prey to the master of Grace and Fine Arts’ most arduous efforts to bring him up to the standards of beauty and elegance required of a prince’s favorite. He wore a scarlet, short-sleeved tunic embroidered with black thread over a fine white shirt, black slacks and boots and his hair had been braided on one side, exposing a freshly pierced ear adorned with a small red gem. One could see that he was indeed beautiful and he _would_ have made a delightful favorite as far as the rest of the court was concerned if not for his awful temper and manners. Sadiq saw him wiping something off his face with the back of his hand while the servant was busy with setting the table, probably powder and red lip tint.      

“Is Murat Bey still alive?” he asked serenely, pointing to the boy’s still red ear once the servant was gone and motioning for him to sit down by his side.

“Yes,” Alin replied, unsurprised by the question. “Do you like it?”

The prince nodded. “I do, actually, the color suits you beautifully. I wasn’t my idea though, if that’s what you’re subtly inquiring.” He reached out to brush off some powder leftovers from the younger’s face and saw him flinch as his fingers ghosted over the smooth cheekbone. “You’ve missed a bit there… Tell me, why are you so tense all the time? The other boys looked quite relaxed to me…”

“You said that you will test me, didn’t you?” the Wallachian replied, a bit too fast, and the barely repressed scowl made Sadiq guess that he was hiding something, possibly different from the fact that he wasn’t happy with his overall situation as a hostage.

The prince nodded, pulling away and leaning back onto the cushions again. “Indeed, I do. But before that, let me make a few things clear. My father wants me to choose one of you as a favorite and I must do what he wants, because right now he is particularly susceptible of any sign of rebellion and yes, even the smallest thing might get misinterpreted. But I have two lovely wives back in Edirne and just because I couldn’t bring them here with me doesn’t mean I will suddenly start fancying some _infidel_ boy enough to enter a bizarre and potentially dangerous relationship with them. So, considering all that _and_ the fact that you obviously lack the gracefulness and skills of the other boys who you most kindly have referred to as ‘a bunch of breastless girls’, your job – should you pass my test - will be to protect me at all times.”

Alin snorted lightly. “To protect you against _what_? You’re a prince and… there are guards everywhere, so-”

“Unfortunately here at court there are also unseen enemies everywhere,” the Turk explained with a lazy wave of his hand. “And the guards can be bought so… I can’t really trust them. Besides, if everyone thinks you’re just a favorite, you will have the advantage of surprise.”

“And you trust _me_?”

“Of course. I’m one of the princes so if anything should happen to me while I’m with you, you know that you won’t get away with a simple beheading, don’t you?”

“…yes.”

“’Yes, _efendim’,_ ” Sadiq corrected him with a light smile. “Can you say that?”

 _“Efendim,”_ the boy conceded, almost pouting.

The prince picked up the brass pot and poured hot tea into two tiny glasses, after which he took a spoon and gracefully offered it to Alin. “Here. You will taste all of my food and drink first.”

He saw the boy’s gaze trail warily over the silver plates and bowls filled with _pilaf_ , plum stew and other dishes, yet he reached out and took the spoon from Sadiq’s hand with an air of determination. Of course, the prince already knew that there was no chance of his food being poisoned, but Alin couldn’t have known that, so whether he was really careless or just putting on a brave face, it had him intrigued.

“I suppose you must think this is unfair,” he suggested, as Alin dipped the spoon into the bowl of _pilaf_ as if plunging a blade into an enemy’s body and then took it to his mouth.

“Nah… ” the boy said with his mouth full. “My father will probably do something to get me killed anyway.”  

‘ _Mine too’_ Sadiq found himself thinking, still rather struck by the other’s degree of resignation to his fate. “Then what is it that you’re afraid of?”

“Nothing.” Alin looked at him as stoically as he could muster, yet the Turk noticed that his voice was cracking slightly. “Is this the test?” he inquired, motioning towards the food.

“No. The test does not end until the break of dawn,” Sadiq informed him mysteriously, proceeding to rub his thumb over the short stubble on his chin as he observed the boy thoughtfully. “Now, you don’t have to look so constipated while you do that, you know?”

“But the food could be poisoned…”

“It could, but I need not be reminded at every step that my life is in danger. You’re my favorite, so you’re supposed to entertain me and lighten the mood. You should make conversation over dinner,” the prince observed, reaching for a pastry. He didn’t get to touch it though, because Alin caught his wrist brusquely and Sadiq found himself surprised by those pale fingers, much smaller than his, their grip reminding him of that of a bird of prey.

“So I’m supposed to make conversation while I’m dying… _efendim_?” the Wallachian asked with a sour expression, while he pushed Sadiq’s hand away from the plate.

“But you don’t care if you die or not, isn’t that what you said?” the prince replied lightly.

* * *

 

A thick tension fell over the small table as the servant returned to pick up the dishes and clear the leftovers of their dinner. Sadiq had noted that Alin didn’t talk much, he was surprisingly picky with food and didn’t particularly favor sweets (and the absence of _rakia_ had probably disappointed him). _That_ and at least two sharp eating utensils had disappeared from the table by the end of it.      

 _‘Murat Bey, I am a soldier and I have led three military campaigns until now, do you think a child could kill me?’_ Indeed, Sadiq wasn’t worried by the boy’s habit of collecting potential weapons, but it wasn’t the only reason he’d pretended not to notice. Perhaps his ‘favorite’ had a real chance of passing the test, despite his rather fragile build and short years and then Sadiq’s lie wouldn’t have to come out. 

The prince stood from the table and walked inside his apartments, followed quietly by the boy and hoping that his instructions were going to be followed exactly and no unfortunate misunderstanding would occur. In front of the curtains separating his bedroom from the rest of his private chambers he stopped and pointed to a low sofa.

“You will sleep here tonight. Be very careful, nobody is supposed to come in during the night, so if someone does it can’t be but with foul intent. You must stop them, do you understand?”

Alin had looked relieved for a moment, then tensed again. “What do you-… And how am I supposed to stop anyone unarmed like this?!”

Sadiq grinned widely and then leaned in, brushing his lips over the younger’s cheek, all the way to his ear.  “We both know that you’re not unarmed,” he whispered softly, before pulling away and walking past the curtains into his bedroom.

But the smile disappeared from the prince’s lips the moment he turned his back on his ‘favorite’ and headed for the bed. He changed quickly into his sleeping attire and lay down on top of the fine sheets tense like a bow, knowing that until it was over he would not be able to close his eyes for a single moment.

Sadiq had seen the infamous deaf and mute assassins for the first time when they’d come for one of his uncles, ten years before and they’d been haunting his nightmares countless times from then onwards. It wasn’t that he feared death, Sadiq was a soldier and he’d faced it countless times in the battlefield, only there he’d had the advantage of looking his enemy in the eye. But the thought of the black-clad men with covered faces, quiet like the very shadow of death and nooses at the ready, who often crept upon their defenseless, slumbering victims, brought with it a special kind of dread given above all by the painful betrayal of having one’s execution ordered by their very family. Ever since, he’d been plagued by the thought that one day they would come for him too, sent by his father or his ambitious older brothers. Ever since, he’d been waiting for them.

And tonight he would have the chance to see them at work. To observe them, assess their strengths and weaknesses, so that when the time came, he would have a fighting chance and not die like a helpless child. He’d made sure they’d been ordered not to go all the way this time, but there was a chance that the assassins themselves would end up fighting for their lives.     

It was sometime in the quiet hours before dawn when he heard them. The door creaked almost inaudibly, opening and closing, and then there was silence again. Still, Sadiq rolled out of bed instinctively and crouched down by the side of the mattress, his trained muscles springing into action almost before he could think of it. And then he saw something through the silk curtains – two shadows advancing cautiously into the rooms, seeking for their intended prey.  Most of the small candles spread across the chambers had burned out by now and it was fairly dark, except for the fading moonlight filtered through the grid-covered windows. The two men didn’t seem to be able to find what they were looking for, so for a moment Sadiq wondered absurdly whether they wouldn’t just give up and leave, before he saw them heading for his bed.

But then there was a loud noise of something breaking and one of the men stumbled forward, then nearly dropped on his knees as he was jumped from behind. The other moved swiftly and managed to grab Alin by the waist and pull him away, while the first assassin, unsteady on his feet, was trying to pluck something out of the inside of his leather collar. He was roughly kicked by the struggling boy, but still the Wallachian was thrown to the floor and forced down on his knees by his captor. While the man was trying to restrain his arms behind his back, the other assassin took out a thin piece of rope from his belt before punching the boy in the face. Then, the noose encircled his thin neck with merciless precision.

“NO! STOP!” Sadiq shouted, standing up. “STOP, THAT’S ENOUGH!”

But they didn’t, and the prince remembered in sheer horror that they were deaf. Maybe they had been given a different order after all?! But who would dare-

Sadiq tore the curtains away, with a mind to intervene even if he was unarmed himself, but in the next moment Alin slipped partially from his holder’s grasp and dove to the ground, reaching for something – a large shard - which he then swiftly plunged into the inside of the man’s thigh. The assassin let out a muffled scream of sorts and released the boy, but the other, who was still trying to tighten the noose, kicked him in the stomach, pushing him down on the ground and pressing a knee between his shoulder blades. The mute’s hand pulled at the rope around Alin’s neck and moments later the boy stopped struggling, going limp and motionless.

“NO! NO!” the prince shouted, lunging forward, as the assassin was releasing his prey and getting up, but suddenly a gush of something warm splashed Sadiq’s cheek and he saw the man’s eyes widen above the black piece of cloth obscuring the rest of his face and clasping his own neck with both hands. Running blood glinted down his leather breastplate as he dropped to his knees with a sinister gurgle and then collapsed on the carpet, dead.

The other mute, badly wounded in the leg, rushed forward as fast as he could, but by now Alin had already scrambled back to his feet, knife in hand, even if he was barely standing. He moved away from the other’s path and dodged the hands seeking to grab him and struck, again and again, until the assassin’s lifeless body eventually collapsed on the floor. Then, he dropped on his knees, one bloodied hand clutching at his own throat as he panted hard, knife slipping away from the other.

Sadiq caught the slumping boy in his arms just as he was about to hit the ground himself, his body limp and eyes unfocused. “Ha! I couldn’t… get it out of my sleeve… fast enough…” was all Alin managed to whisper before finally passing out.

**_To be continued_ **


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

A/N – Hello everyone! Again, thank you all so much for the amazing feedback, it really means a lot to me! So guess what, looks like I managed to get this updated right before the New Year! Enjoy the new chap ;)

 ** _Warnings_** : _well… more violence because why the hell not_

* * *

 

The boy was sitting on a low sofa next to the window, curled up against the pillows and his gaze lost somewhere past the gilded grates, where the blue expanse of the sea was visible in the distance. Rays of sun were shining in his light hair, staining it with gold and copper, but his face was so white, almost ashen-white, without a drop of color to it. He had the sort of beauty which Sadiq had seen in some women too, something fragile, elusive and creepy and which both enthralled one and sent cold chills down their spine. It was as if it did not belong to this world.

The prince sat down next to him and saw that his thin, pale neck still bore some faint bruises from that night, a sinister reminder of what he’d witnessed and what possibly awaited him too in the near future. Murat Bey had informed him that his new favorite was recovered, but now he had some doubts, especially when Alin flinched visibly as the prince reached out to stroke his cheek.

“Are you quite alright?” Sadiq asked gently. “The doctors said that you’ve slept continuously for two days… And there’s no need to be so skittish. Tell me, has my test been too tough for you?”

Alin turned his head and examined him for a moment, silent, his expression unreadable. “It was pointless,” he said eventually, his tone neutral but soft like a whisper. “I killed those men, but I cannot protect you. I cannot protect anyone,” he added, and this time it was obvious that he was barely keeping his chagrin at bay.

“You can’t protect me?”

“Murat Bey said that when a Sultan’s successor is named, all of his male siblings are put to death by official decree. And that given these circumstances, you will not live much longer since you have three older brothers. I cannot save you from the Sultan’s hands, can I?! I can’t save anyone or anything from the Sultan…”

Sadiq cringed at the unexpected words, but kept it from showing. Yes, it was the Ottoman law and yes, it was barbaric, despite having a very clear point, and the Wallachian seemed to be horrified by the thought of it. Still, at least now he knew where Murat Bey stood and it explained why his orders had been disobeyed. If a royal hostage were to lose his life because of a whim of the prince’s, it would certainly make him appear irresponsible and unfit to rule, and possibly attract even more immediate punishment. Darn! Now he would have to keep an eye on the boy as well!

“Whatever happens to me will not have anything to do with you, Alin, whether you’re my favorite or not. Do you understand? You are here for a different reason and this is why your life will be precious to anyone who ascends to the throne, regardless of who they are. If Murat Bey has suggested otherwise it’s because he deeply dislikes you and, probably, because he supports someone other than me for the throne. Also, I do not expect you to save me from my father, if a _fatwa_ will indeed be given for my execution.” Sadiq paused and smiled lightly. “Still, there are enemies other than the Sultan who we _can_ fight, and one of them has just revealed themselves…”

Outside it was a beautiful day, sun shining and gentle sea breeze blowing over the lush interior gardens and courtyards and the prince took them outside, seemingly with the innocent intention of bringing some color to the boy’s cheeks and wipe that pout off his face. But, as it was Sadiq’s usual habit, he quickly managed to make it worse, more on less on purpose. 

“So, now you are my favorite. As such, it will be my task to educate you, aside from the usual lessons you’re doing. As a prince of royal blood, you must show certain qualities, display a certain demeanor, which cannot be short of refined. Do you understand?” he said, sauntering casually down the cobbled path, hands clasped solemnly behind his back.

Alin sighed deeply, in a fashion which was anything but encouraging. “Yes, _efendim…_ ”

The Turk smiled widely as he suddenly remembered something, then his expression became serious once again. “I have heard that Wallachians have a saying – ‘as the Turk, so the gun’ – what does it mean?”

The boy’s mouth twitched as he looked away briefly, his amusement obvious. “Why would you ask me such a thing, _efendim_?”

“As a prince, you cannot give me such an answer. Rather, you must answer my question properly,” Sadiq countered, shoving his finger under the younger’s nose. “So?”

Alin shrugged. “Well, it means that the Turks are strong and deadly like a gun, but equally… um, insensitive and dumb,” he replied, a little hesitantly and adding the last two words in a lower voice.

And now he screwed it, the prince thought, barely holding back a smirk and halting his steps. “What you’ve said just now is very unfortunate. You insulted me.”

“But-“

“This is very serious! As a child, you could get a harsh punishment for it, but as a prince you could start a war.”

“But _you_ asked me what it means! I told you the truth!”

Sadiq tilted his head curiously and his hardly maintained serious expression melted into a sly smile. “And you have never spoken anything but the truth in your entire life? Have you not uttered any lies? Anyway, this is the kind of truth you probably shouldn’t have said even if you had been the Sultan himself. You should find a way to rephrase it in a manner that makes it a compliment, it’s the diplomatic way.”

Alin made a face and his eyes widened, then scowled as he seemed to struggle with the concept. It was clear that no compliment was coming to him in the moment, and by the way he chewed on his bottom lip it was probably quite the contrary, he was holding back another ‘pleasantry’.

The prince sighed deeply and affectedly, shaking his head. “It’s very simple really, you could just leave out the second part. Just stick to ‘strong’ and ‘deadly’. That is the sort of compliment a warrior will always appreciate.” He sighed again at the boy’s lack of appreciation at his remark and went on. “This is a very important lesson you must learn, therefore, just to make sure you get it thoroughly, I will punish you.”

* * *

 

Alin fell silent brusquely, even if he didn’t quite seem afraid, it was more as if a mute sort of sadness had come over him. _He is probably used to being punished_ , the Turk thought, still smiling as he resumed his walk and his steps became more brisk with a slight excitement, _but he has no idea…_ He quickly led the way out of the gardens, down a long, simple stone corridor and finally out into one of his favorite places in the whole of Topkapi – the sparring court.

There Sadiq stopped, his face lit with a broad smile as he motioned with his hand at the place around them. "This is a sort of hall of arms but also a sparring court," he explained, even though the Wallachian remained stubbornly silent. "The weapons on display on the walls and in the racks here were brought from all corners of our Empire and the courtiers come here to practice and to keep themselves in shape in their free time. What do you think of it?”

The boy’s eyes wandered around the large stone paved courtyard and at the numerous weaponry, shields and pieces of armour on display on the hanging panels as he walked to the middle of the open space and stopped there, crossing his arms defensively. Then his gaze trail upwards, towards the large stone balcony which surrounded the practice area.

“Murat Bey is here,” he observed, taking a step back as Sadiq advanced determinedly towards him, fleetingly turning his head in the indicated direction. He saw that indeed, aside from the two older men he’d spotted having a quiet talk in the balcony at the other end of the yard, Murat Bey was there in the company of a delicate blond boy with long, curly hair, the courtier’s ring-laden hand wrapped around the other’s slim waist.

“Murat Bey can go to hell,” Sadiq informed his new favourite with a grin, before motioning for one of the servants. “So, let me tell you what your punishment will consist of. You must spar with me until all the sand from the hourglass has poured down and if you fail to defend yourself, that’s too bad. We’ll keep fighting until the time is up and you cannot yield. I was told that you’ve already been in battle three times... or was that just a childish brag?”

“I _was_ in battle three times!” Alin replied sharply, scowling, as the Turk took off his light overcoat and handed it to a servant, while another brought him a steel breastplate and a helmet.

“And I’ve seen the way many princes go to battle these days,” Sadiq stated amused, rolling his shoulders. “Just remember that you cannot yield. If you do...”

“But that’s not fair!” the Wallachian protested. “ _I_ am not allowed to hurt _you_!”

“You’re allowed this time, so you can _try_ to. Now gear up and go pick up a weapon. Any weapon you want, I don't mind.”

The servants presented the boy with several pieces of armour, but he only chose a light mail shirt and refused the helmet, scowling the whole time. _He’s still scrawny and clearly not very strong, so he can only carry light weapons and barely any armour. And he must have been on horseback, now on foot he’s done for,_ the prince pondered as he observed his favourite turning unsurely to glance towards the panels behind him. Alin walked up to the wall and reached out for a thin, straight rapier and weighed it in his hand shyly. It was indeed too bad he couldn’t get a knife, because even that looked slightly out of balance in his small hand, probably too heavy for him to maneuver at its highest potential. And then the blond boy who was with Murat Bey said something Sadiq could not quite hear, probably an insult, and laughed loudly.

“Pick up a shield,” the prince told Alin, whose expression had darkened even more.

“I don’t want to!”

“Without a shield I’ll hack you into tiny pieces, that mail shirt amounts to almost nothing. Pick it up and hold it up, _haydi_!”  

The large scimitar was weighed impatiently in Sadiq’s hand as Alin complied, his load increasing considerably with the medium-sized bronze shield. The Turk observed his opponent carefully – just because the other was still a child didn’t mean he couldn’t have some tricks up his sleeve, although he’d probably mostly gotten away until now with being largely underestimated. He gave the signal for the hourglass to be turned and Alin bowed forward, sword and shield lowered as he rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet.

Slowly they began circling each other, but Sadiq would not waste too much time – he charged forward at full speed, the curved blade pointed forward menacingly. It was a move which worked most of the times, because the Europeans failed to realize that, unlike their swords, a scimitar was a short-range weapon and could not be used for thrusting and when Alin quickly dodged the tip coming at him, jumping to the side, the prince swung the heavy shield into his side full force, meeting his momentum and making the boy tumble down into the sand, over his own shield.

“Get up,” Sadiq told him, stepping back and readjusting his weapons. He saw a fleeting expression of torment on the younger’s face, still Alin scrambled to his feet quickly, gripping his sword tightly. “Get your shield up,” the prince ordered, but was ignored this time. Instead, the Wallachian resumed his position, looking substantially relieved without the burden.

 _Fine, wait and see what happens when you don’t do as I say_ , the Turk thought, shaking his head disapprovingly.

He charged again and this time the boy jumped away from his shield, turning swiftly and managing to graze Sadiq’s upper arm with his blade. Then, as the prince hesitated a moment, surprised by the sudden sting, Alin kicked him in the shin, trying to make him loose his footing. It didn’t happen though and Sadiq blocked his favorite’s weapon with the edge of his shield, kneeing him in the stomach violently. Alin stumbled backwards, the wind knocked out of him, and the prince lunged forward and twisted the scimitar, bringing down the blunt edge onto the boy’s right shoulder forcefully.    

Alin cried out in pain and nearly dropped his weapon, looking past his opponent’s frame at the hourglass. There was still some time left though and Sadiq tossed down his own shield and attacked again, giving him no time to recover. The younger barely had time to switch the sword into his left hand, as useless as that was, before the Turk began pounding on him mercilessly, this time with the sharp side of the blade, which was getting closer to his face and neck every single time, until the boy found himself backed against the wall.

Still, he would not give up just yet and ducked swiftly under his opponent’s arm, twisting and trying to thrust his sword into the side joints of Sadiq’s breastplate. The blow missed the vulnerable area though and the blade slid helplessly along the polished metal, lacking the force to break through, instead Sadiq gripped the Wallachian’s injured shoulder with his free hand, fingers digging in without mercy as he twisted the other around and kneed him in the stomach again, even harder. This time, Alin dropped to his knees and then collapsed face-down onto the sand.   

“Ahhh _sehzade efendim_ , you really made swift work of him! _Aferim_!” Murat Bey praised, clapping his hands excitedly, while at his side the blond boy was chuckling and whispering something into his ear.

Sadiq was instantly and terribly irked by the comment, but managed to keep his anger in check as he discarded his sword and squatted down to assess the condition of his favorite. Carefully, he rolled the unconscious boy face-up and brushed away the sand from his bangs and face.

“Of course I made swift work of him, he’s just a child. Even the lowest _bostangi_ could have done the same, the only person who couldn’t handle him was you,” he replied sweetly, scooping the Wallachian up in his arms and propping the boy’s head against his shoulder. He offered the courtier a bright smile, before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to Alin’s lips.

**_To be continued_ **

_Sehzade - prince_

_Aferim – well done_

_Bostangi – palace guard_

A/N – Actually, the old expression ‘ _As the Turk, so the gun’_ is the equivalent of ‘[ _Such carpenters, such chips_ ’ and I only used it for banter’s sake, I hope no one gets offended.](http://ro-en.gsp.ro/index.php?d=e&q=Such+carpenters%2C+such+chips.) But obviously, Alin had to be cheeky…  


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

A/N – Hello my dear readers and HAPPY NEW YEAR! What can I say, since it’s still January I guess I won’t be trolling you with useless rants and meaningless author notes straight away, I’ll save that for later in the year :)))) (damn, why can’t I ever take this seriously?) So, for today, just enjoy the new chap and give me your thoughts ;)

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Sadiq arched his torso on one side, then on the other, stretching the tense and slightly aching muscles while the servant poured hot water down his back. The baths were really quiet at this late hour and he preferred it that way. During the day, the courtiers used the baths (as well as any corner of the palace they would find themselves in) to discuss yet more politics and court gossip and especially as of late the constant murmurs he was hearing all over the place made the prince wary and tense, not allowing him to relax one bit. As much as he tried to keep his mind off it, he knew _what_ they were all talking about, with various degrees of worry or, on the contrary, excitement. He knew that the day would come soon enough – maybe even sooner than they all thought it would – the day the noose would tighten around his neck.

Still, despite the hidden tension, a small smile made his way onto his lips as he heard the sound of footsteps and noticed Alin coming towards him. The boy stopped in front of him, arms crossed over the towel he’d wrapped tightly around his body. As usual, he was making no effort to smile or otherwise be pleasing and Sadiq appreciated that, finding it rather endearing how the younger’s feelings always showed on his face. Sure, he hoped the boy would grow out of it soon enough, because it made him way too vulnerable for the cruel game of politics they were all being forced to play.

“You wanted to see me, _efendim_?” the Wallachian asked bluntly.

Sadiq nodded, still smiling, and patted the place next to him on the marble bench before motioning for the servant to leave. “How are you?” he asked when the other sat down gingerly and not too close. “How’s your shoulder?”

“It still hurts when I move, but I’m fine,” Alin huffed in annoyance, staring awkwardly into his own lap. “I would have taken a worse wound though if I were to-… not lose the fight,” he added.

“So that’s why you’re sulking,” the prince concluded amused. “It must have been a dreadful blow to your knightly pride.”

The boy continued to keep his head bowed, sadness written all over his childish face as he sighed. “Everyone says I’m just a weakling, especially Murat Bey,” he explained, biting his lip with a grimace. “And just now he nearly tried to rip my clothes off! What the hell is his problem?! I swear he needs a wife to throw three slippers at his head…” he grumbled under his breath.

The Turk burst into unrestrained laughter at this – it must have been the funniest thing he’d heard in a long time. “Is that what Wallachian wives do?” he asked, standing up and grabbing the copper bowl.

“It’s not funny!”

“Oh, I agree,” Sadiq still chuckled. “Come here and turn around,” he motioned before turning to fill up the bowl with hot water.

“What?!” Alin’s eyes widened, guessing the prince’s intention. “No, I can-”

But Sadiq only grinned and pushed his shoulder down, making him sit still. He carefully poured the water and proceeded to run the soap and washcloth over the boy’s shoulders and his bare back. _What do you know, signs of good behavior_ , the prince thought upon observing the faded traces left most likely by the whip on the soft pale skin and lightly tracing the lines with his fingertips. Silence fell between the two of them and his touches did not linger, especially as he felt the other’s thin body tense up, instead Sadiq busied himself with washing and rinsing his favorite’s hair, gently treading his fingers through the light-colored strands.

“Let’s braid your hair,” the Turk said eventually, turning Alin around to face him. Parting a portion of hair carefully, the prince’s fingers twisted and braided the damp strands on the side of the boy skull, then swept and tucked the loose tips behind his ear. “Murat Bey is just an arts teacher who knows nothing about war and none of the other boys has fought me and won, so they just talk crap,” Sadiq murmured softly, tilting the Wallachian’s chin up with the tips of his fingers. “And you’re not a weakling,” he added, leaning in a pressing a light kiss to the boy’s cheek.

Alin took a sharp breath and the prince saw that his fists were clenched in his lap and eyebrows furrowed into a sudden, deep scowl. “I’m not… I’m not a slut either! Like-…” He paused, taking a deep, shaky breath. “My uncle.”

Sadiq blinked, completely surprised at first, then the wheels started to turn in his head. Was that the reason for Alin’s constant reluctance bordering hostility in regard to everything here at the court? The reason for which he was always on edge, always on his guard, ready to strike like a cornered animal? Was he secretly feeling the pressure of an already bad reputation which wasn’t even his own making?

“I don’t know who your uncle is,” he answered truthfully.

“ _Was_ ,” the boy corrected and sighed. “You must have heard of him, it was the man your father had an affair with, a long time ago. The Sultan favored him to such an extent that he gifted him the throne, deposing the old _voievod_.”

“So… _that one_. Hmm… I remember now.” Sadiq shifted closer, reaching for something. “Come sit in my lap.”

Alin’s eyes widened in horror. “Absolutely not! Didn’t you hear what I just-”

“I want you to shave my beard and you won’t be able like that, from the side. Come on, stop making a fuss,” the prince replied, patting his knee briefly before picking up soap and a thin razor. “You don’t think I’d do anything while you’re handling _this_ , do you?”

Alin tsked but eventually obeyed, still looking visibly upset and distrustful. He took the utensils from the Turk’s hand and gave them a long, hard stare. “I’ve never done anything like this… I mean I don’t need this yet, so-… You should do it yourself, what if I cut you by mistake? Don’t you think so?”

“I think you should do your best not to cut me,” Sadiq offered with a grin, resting his hands on the younger’s half-bare thighs. “Here, I’ll make sure you don’t slip off.”

Huffing and squinting, the Wallachian awkwardly ran the bar of soap over the sides of the other’s face, his jaw line and below his chin and rubbed it to make foam, a bit rougher than necessary. A sigh escaped his lips as the razor was adjusted between his slender fingers and he leaned in closer, tilting his head to see a bit better.

“So, what do you think of it?” Alin asked, lowering the razor to the prince’s jaw and dragging it across the skin with an all-too-prudent motion. “Of what your father did, I mean?”

“Nothing, really,” Sadiq replied. “Our culture is very different from yours. The Sultan has many women in his harem, all slaves. He’s not, as you would say, faithful to anyone, and there is a good, practical reason for that too, because such influence could not be allowed. So if he also took a hostage boy as his favorite, why would it matter then?”

“But it’s not that simple! They say he was in love with my uncle, and would cater to his every whim while he was here! Isn’t that too much influence?! And giving someone _a crown_ is not just any gift!”

“No, but this gift came with some terms too, your uncle had sworn to protect our interests in Wallachia, most likely he promised a larger tribute than before and more boys for our Janissary cores. That’s how these things work and besides, “the prince made a vague gesture with his hand “everyone is here to obtain some sort of advantage. As for my father’s love, he has professed it for several people who subsequently ended up in the executioner’s hands. Soon enough, he will have to sign a _fatwa_ to have his own not chosen sons murdered and I know he will do it without flinching.”   

Alin’s hand paused and he snorted, scowling some more. “How can you say that like it’s nothing?” he asked in a low voice.

Truth be told, Sadiq had asked himself the same question back in his youth, he had asked his mother and his teachers, and the answers had been often bitter or brutal. This was the law. This was how it was. There was nothing but duty, a _șehzade_ had to do his duty at every step.

“My father is not as much a father as he is my master, and from an early age I was taught not to anger him, often the hard way. He’s never held me in his arms or praised me for anything, like other fathers do with their sons. And to be completely honest I’ve never looked up to him, so I never cared much for what he did.” He looked up at the boy and wrapped his arms around his slim waist, pulling him closer. “But I suppose you’re a lot more bitter about your uncle and judge him more harshly, don’t you?”

“Well how could I not?!” his favorite huffed, failing to pry the prince’s hands away and to free himself from the embrace which was clearly too close for his comfort. “He was a slut and a traitor! He returned to take the throne at the head of a Turkish army, fought and slaughtered his own people for it! And then he did all those things you said, _protecting your interests_!”

Sadiq shrugged. “Well, he wanted to rule. It’s something to be _voievod_ , right? Wouldn’t you like to be _voievod_ in your father’s place when the time comes, instead of your older brother?” he asked slyly, green eyes glinting mischievously. Infidels were in no way better than his people when it came to power struggles, if anything they were worse.

Alin had resumed his work and the prince watched his fingers move with careful concentration, their eyes meeting only for a brief second. _And now he will say he can’t wait to go to war against us and it’s probably true_ , he thought, biting his lip.

“No.”

“No?” Well, this answer was surely surprising. “Are you sure?”

“When I was little and my uncle was still on the throne, one winter my father took my brother and I out in the field and ordered us to dig graves. It was a harsh winter and many peasants had died because of the tribute we’d had to pay earlier in the year and my father said it was the fault of the _voievod_ and his family, so we should dig graves alongside everyone else. I could only dig a small one, but it was enough to fit a widow’s newborn daughter. I put her in the ground myself, she was just a handful. If I had been _voievod_ , it would have really been my fault and I’d rather not put anyone else in the ground as long as I live. I’d only make another bad _voievod_.” The last words were a mere whisper and Alin lowered his hands, letting them fall limply in his own lap and his shoulders sagging in defeat.

Sadiq studied his face thoughtfully, momentarily at a loss for words. For a brief moment the image of his youngest brother Mustafa with a shovel in his hands and digging a grave – his own as it would turn out soon enough – lingered before his eyes and the fingers which were about to brush the other’s cheek paused in mid-air.

_I have no right to wipe anyone’s tears._

He could not save Mustafa – his only dear sibling - just like he could not save himself. His little brother was much too young, he was only six, there was no chance he would be chosen. Still, Sadiq would have offered his own neck to the mutes if it meant saving the child’s life, but it was useless. They would perish together. _But a șehzade must always do his duty, even_ this _duty. He must obey, he must endure everything._

 _“_ There are other options,” the prince stated eventually, taking the shaving utensils from his favorite’s hands and laying them aside, before both his hands clasped and gave a squeeze to the other’s thin, damp fingers.

“What options, to get myself and many others killed in a war we can’t win?” Alin grumbled.

Sadiq smiled and poked the tip of his nose playfully. “You’re yet too young to have learned that not everything is simply black or white. There is something called _diplomacy_ , but you’re still like those feisty little dogs which despite being the size of someone’s palm, they jump to tear them to shreds,” he replied, wiping off the remnants of foam from his face.

He lifted the boy up and stood, throwing a robe over his shoulders. Then he did the same to his favorite and, without warning, scooped him up in his arms bridal style.

“What are you doing?! Put me down!”

“It’s late, I’ll take you to bed now,” the Turk stated, unable to fight back a grin at the younger’s instant distress.

“Wha- No!”

“Why do you keep saying ‘no’? Does it look like it’s working?”

**_To be continued_ **

A/N _Voievod – Medieval ruler_


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

A/N – Hello everyone!  First of all thank you so much for the attention this fic has been getting lately, as usual I’m so excited to see that people enjoy my twisted writing :))) That being said, I will keep you waiting no more and, lo and behold, there’s a new chap all hot out of the oven for you! *cough* well, just hot _period_ *cough*.

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Having taken his time with making himself comfortable in his silk nightclothes, the prince laid down onto the soft mattress and propped himself up on one elbow, intently observing his favorite who had promptly burrowed under the sheets now tucked tightly around his naked body.

“Let me explain something,” Sadiq said softly, shifting closer, “Unfortunately it did not occur to me right away, but it is in both our interests if Murat Bey and, well, everyone else becomes convinced that we have an intimate relationship. It will not look suspicious of me and you will not be given to someone else, who’d show a more ‘genuine interest’ in you. Do you understand?”

Alin was chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully, eyes avoiding the prince’s. “Yes, _efendim_ ,” he answered almost inaudibly and with a nearly imperceptible air of sadness and resignation.

“But?” the Turk inquired, tilting his head. “You don’t seem convinced…”

“They’ll do that anyway if-…”

 _If something happens to you,_ the boy’s eyes were saying what his lips wouldn’t and Sadiq felt a cold shudder running down his spine. “Nobody will dare, after you have been mine, so do not fear that,” he reassured the younger, taking a deep breath and trying to force away the dark thoughts from his mind. “Besides, the task at hand will be difficult enough,” the prince mused, his lips twitching lightly.

The Wallachian blinked quickly, then his gaze narrowed slightly. “What do you mean, _efendim_? You think I can’t pretend? What do I have to do anyway?”

“Mmmm… nothing awfully complicated,” Sadiq stated with a dramatic sigh. “You have to sleep in my bed like this every night and let the servants see you… and then, when we are outside where others can see us, you must let me hold your hand, wrap my arm around your waist and even… kiss you.”

The boy graced him with an incredulous stare, thin eyebrow shooting up as he immediately came up with a retort. “And this would be difficult for _me_ … but not for _you_? Considering that you _don’t_ like boys?”

“It’s not really a matter of liking anyone in this case, it’s a matter of being used to it. I’ve done all that before with someone else, but I suspect you haven’t and because of that your discomfort will be obvious. And that is problematic, since things will not look realistic,” the prince explained innocently.

As he’d anticipated, Alin’s expression darkened. “Do you think I’m _afraid_ or something? I wasn’t afraid to fight you, was I? Why would you think I’d be afraid of something like this?!”

The Turk bit his lip, with a falsely demure expression. “I think you weren’t afraid because you had fought before,” he suggested smoothly.

“Are you saying… I’m _inexperienced_?”

Sadiq only sighed, shrugging slightly. _What do you know, I’ve touched a sour spot_ , he thought, chuckling inwardly at the sight of Alin’s scowl and the hidden warning in his tone. Damn, this boy would never back down from a challenge, would he? No wonder he always managed to get into trouble…

“Try me,” the boy said dryly, throwing the covers off his shoulders and mirroring the other’s position.

The prince tilted his head, then reached out slowly and touched Alin’s free hand. First his fingertips ghosting over the top of the other’s pale fingers and the small, bony knuckles, then slipping on the underside and caressing the still soft palm before entwining their fingers together and rubbing softly with his thumb. Alin remained perfectly motionless the whole time, eyes trained curiously on Sadiq’s face with that secret glint of defiance he’d noticed before. And that alone was incredibly stirring, if nothing else. Sadiq removed his hand and instead, without warning, he wrapped his free arm around the boy’s waist over the covers and pulled him closer. He shifted, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to the younger’s cheek, then another on his jaw line, but when he was about to attempt one on Alin’s mouth the boy’s fingers covered his lips, stopping it.

“Wait… I know what you’re trying to do.” As the Turk said nothing in reply, continuing to hold him, Alin took a deep breath, searching the other’s eyes.  “Do you even… Have you ever slept with another man before?” 

Sadiq withdrew his hand and proceeded to rub his chin, unsure how to phrase his reply. “Yes and no,” he said eventually. “I was much younger back then and not married. Still, since I don’t have an interest in men and it was just one of my older friends, I don’t regard it as ‘sleeping with someone’. It was more like… a sport.”

The Wallachian snorted. “Right… except a sport is supposed to be fun and entertaining and pleasant,” he pointed, rolling his eyes and laying down on his back with a huff. “That’s not what I read in the book about the _fine art of love_ Murat Bey specifically asked us to study.”

“What did you read then?” the prince asked, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue. It sure looked like after all this time, the master of Grace and Fine Arts still had an unrivalled ability of spoiling his fun….

“How was that? Ah yes! _‘The gracious young lover will hold back his tears and instead act as if the very gates of Paradise have opened before him and he’s lost in bliss’_ … ” Alin quoted with a grimace. “He made me memorize this phrase.”

Sadiq squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead with his fingers, before bursting into laughter. “Well, of course he did. You have a special place in his heart… Not to mention that he’s always been a notorious killjoy.” He sighed and leaned over his favorite’s face, reaching out to brush a few strands away from his forehead. “At any rate, I didn’t go all the way back then and wouldn’t do it with you either. From what I know, making _that_ pleasant takes a certain level of skill _and patience_ which I do not have and do not even see the need for. Furthermore, I wouldn’t do anything _you_ don’t want,” he added with a grin.

To his surprise, the boy didn’t instantly reply that he would never do such a thing or that the very insinuation was insulting (as the prince had anticipated), instead, he sighed softly and appeared to ponder on his options, after which he looked up at the prince’s face, observing him curiously.

“So, if I want….?” he asked tentatively, a sudden gleam in his red eyes which seemed to be a dark garnet in the dim candlelight of the prince’s bedroom.

Sadiq smiled. “Of course, _your highness_ , if you want…”

“I have two conditions.”

The Turk tilted his head, raising his eyebrows.

“First, I don’t want anything from you and I will never accept any sort of gift,” Alin stated seriously. “And second… I want to touch you too.”

“Hmmm… I don’t know what to say about the second one,” Sadiq replied cautiously, barely holding back a grin. “Will you be gentle with me?”

“Very, _efendim_.”

In the next moment, Alin palm was cupping the side of his face and the boy shifted closer, craning his neck and letting his lips brush teasingly against the prince’s, before attempting a deeper kiss. It was still shy and hesitant though and Sadiq did not have the patience for this sort of teasing, no matter how genuine, so he wasted no time in pushing his tongue in as he kissed his favorite back, pushing the boy flat against the mattress. Then the Turk took his time exploring the other’s mouth as he pulled at the sheets still covering Alin’s body and tossing them away to get on top of his lover. The boy’s fingers reached down and tugged at his silk shirt to lift it up and the prince parted their lips momentarily to oblige, pulling it over his head hastily.

Under him, Alin was already looking a bit flushed, his cheeks darker, breath a little labored and eyes half-lidded as he seemed to admire what he was now seeing. His small hands began exploring the prince’s strong, muscular shoulders as Sadiq lowered his head once more, this time his lips finding the soft skin of his favorite’s throat. The relative arousal he was beginning to experience was unexpected, but then again, this was nothing like the previous time he’d shared the bed with another man. Alin’s body was small, lean and delicate almost like a young girl’s and he could partially understand why some people found such a thing exhilarating to the point of passion.

The prince smiled against the other’s skin as he started hearing his lover’s soft grunts and moans and scooted lower, leaving a trail of kisses down Alin’s neck, collarbone and over the smooth, pale chest and latching his mouth onto one of the soft nipples. His hands gently caressed the boy’s shoulders and sides while his tongue drew circles around the small, hardening bud before he decided to try his teeth on it, eliciting a muffled yelp. His lips then continued their journey down the Wallachian’s body, teasing the rest of his ribcage and his taut stomach and eventually finding the boy’s belly button. There his tongue delved in, playfully, hands resting on Alin’s hips and rubbing them softly.

After working his mouth on it for a while, Sadiq pushed himself back up with a broad grin, hovering above his favorite. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Alin smiled cheekily in turn, biting his bottom lip, and pulled him down bringing their mouths together again. His fingers dug into the prince’s muscular back, tracing the line of his spine downwards until they reached Sadiq’s waist, hooking into the waistband of his light trousers.   

“Do you want to touch me?”

The boy nodded slowly and the prince shimmied out of the last piece of clothing, glancing down expectantly. Alin looked a bit uncertain now as he ran his hands over Sadiq’s chest and slowly down his torso and stomach, and took a deep, shaky breath before reaching out lower and lightly closing his fingers around his lover’s shaft. The prince groaned, feeling teased by the small, hesitant hand, and even if it was clear that the boy was unused to touching someone else and the motion of his fingers was much too gentle and slow, it was still surprisingly stirring in its novelty… At least until Sadiq became rock hard and lost all his patience.  

“Alin, let me do it,” he whispered, nuzzling his favorite’s neck as he shifted and reached down, spreading the slender legs open and settling his own pelvis between them. He felt the boy’s thighs quivering against his hips and the rest of his body tensing and quickly pressed a kiss on the heated skin of the other’s throat and on his flushed cheek. Sadiq’s much more determined hand then descended between their bodies and grasped both their shafts together, starting to pump roughly. Alin gasped loudly at the sudden grip and raised his hips, one leg hooking around the prince’s hip instinctively.

After that, he didn’t last long and his helpless moan as his back arched suddenly against the mattress and fingers fisted into the sheets and the priceless expression on his reddened, close-eyed face was enough to bring the prince near the edge as well. He finished soon after, biting into his small lover’s throat as if into a ripe fruit, hard enough to leave a lasting bruise.        

Finally satisfied and incredibly so for that matter, Sadiq rolled off the boy and onto his back, sighing contentedly with his eyes closed. Now this night had surely been an unexpected and very pleasant surprise… Next to him he could hear Alin still panting softly, that delicious blush probably still lingering on his heated cheeks. Eventually, the prince sat up and reached for a soft hand towel, proceeding to clean up the fresh mess covering both their bodies. 

“My father’s going to kill me,” the boy whispered suddenly.

Sadiq sighed, tossing the dirty towel and lowered himself on one elbow, observing his favorite who was still lying there motionless, with his eyes closed. “Tell me, whose fault is it that you are here now?”

“In your bed?” Alin murmured softly, finally opening his eyes.

“In _someone’_ s bed, willing or unwilling, something like this – or much worse - would have happened anyway. Now whose fault is it that you are here? He has no right to judge the child he has chosen to sacrifice!” Sadiq pointed, a bit too harshly, then sighed again. This had been a little too close to home. “Don’t worry,” he added in a much gentler tone, “Nothing bad will happen, you’ll see…” He reached out and grabbed the discarded sheets, pulling them over Alin’s body, then lied to his side and wrapped an arm around the boy, nestling his head against his shoulder.

“Try to get some sleep now.”

* * *

 

It was early in the morning when the prince woke up, as was his habit, to find himself tangled awkwardly in a mess of sheets and his naked body chilled to the bone as a result. He sat up with a scowl, scratching his head, then brusquely became aware of an unfamiliar sound coming from close by. Turning, he discovered Alin in the middle of the messy sheets (of which the boy had mostly pulled onto himself), sleeping on his back with his mouth open. A sort of soft zzzzz-ing came out every time he breathed, reminding the prince of his friend Heracles’ cats.

Sadiq’s frown dissolved into a smile at the sight and, as he was pulling at the covers to get some more back, eventually burst into laughter. The Wallachian groaned and smacked his lips as he was rolled in place, cracking an eye open. “Mmmm… what…” he muttered, still on the edge of sleep.

“You’re so cute,” the prince told him, still laughing when the younger curled up against him, instinctively seeking the lost warmth. “You know that?”

Alin scowled and tsked, opening his eyes fully and gracing the Turk with a questioning glance. “What-…?”    

“You snore.”

**_To be continued_ **

A/N - In case you were wondering, yes, some cats do snore and it’s a soft zzzzzz sound, quite sweet.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

A/N – Hello my dear readers! Dunno if you were expecting or waiting for this or not, but here I am, back with a new and final chap of this short tale. And yeah, time to up the drama and keep you on edge right up until the end, because where would we be without that sort of excitement in our lives? Right. Without further spoilers, enjoy ;)

_Nikola – Bulgaria_

_Jacob – OC Greece (well, not that original tbh, he’d inspired from an artwork I found online, but I will not give any more details, or their owner will come after me with hella flames :))))_

* * *

 

When he’d written the letters to his wives he’d imagined their desperate wails. When he’d written his last words to those few close friends, he’d imagined them grieving in somber silence. But now there were no more letters to write, no hiding behind words on paper and Sadiq couldn’t but wonder how his ‘favorite’ would be taking the news. Of course, he didn’t think their clever pretense at a relationship could ever amount to much, not even friendship perhaps – and it was actually a big relief that it was so – but the prince was still curious as to how Alin was going to react and under this curiosity he momentarily chose to bury the horror of the last hours he had left to spend in this life.

The servant he’d sent returned shortly, bringing the boy with him into the small but luxurious study.

“I saved you from your lessons again,” Sadiq greeted with a small smile, elbows resting casually on the desk and taking in the other’s lingering scowl.

“That’s not it…” Alin’s gaze swept around the unfamiliar room – the prince’s office – eventually resting on the papers scattered on the massive, ornate desk. “It’s not, yes?” he repeated, uncertain and fidgeting. “You wouldn’t have called me _here_ if you just-…”

Sadiq said nothing, watching how the Wallachian plopped on the sofa next to his desk uninvited and proceeded to stare at him a bit wide-eyed, his small chest rising and falling conspicuously with labored breath. His large, ruby-colored eyes closed for a moment and the prince saw him taking a deep breath.

“Did my father… do something?”

The other shook his head, leaning back in his seat. How did one say something like this? With irony? Bitterness? Resignation? “The _fatwa_ was signed early this morning. I want to ask you something,” he spoke quickly, not willing to leave room for more words, unnecessary words to be passed between the two of them.

“But-”

“Tonight you’ll sleep with the other boys.”

Alin blinked in surprise at the soft but final tone of the prince’s voice, averting his gaze quickly, then opened his mouth to say something but no sound came out other than a soft huff and his Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed hard, nodding. “So you’ll just-… I don’t understand! If you knew from the beginning… why did you-…?? Why didn’t you run away or something? I mean, while it was still possible…”

He was such a child.

“And where would I run?” Sadiq asked calmly. “Where _could_ I go that he wouldn’t find me? Do you think other _sehzades_ have not tried it before? None of them escaped in the end, the Osman go to great lengths to prevent civil war and keep the Empire from falling apart.” He sighed. “And besides, why didn’t _you_ run away instead of allowing yourself to be sent here? As it is now, your life could be in danger one day between these walls.”

“It’s not the same thing!” the boy replied bluntly, that stirring glint of defiance back in his eyes.

Of course not, the young Wallachian prince was ready to stand his ground to the very end, with all his teenage inability to see anything but in black or white, with absolutely no shades in between. 

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Sadiq murmured, more to himself and reflecting upon at what the other had meant without uttering, as he stood and walked around his desk to where his favorite was.

Alin stood in turn just as the Turk stepped in front of him and his small, bony fingers instinctively found purchase on the other’s forearms, nails digging into the soft silk of the prince’s garments. Still, he remained quiet this time and averted his gaze again, and Sadiq was suddenly gripped by fear.

_What have I done?! I should have never touched him; he’s not the same anymore, even if he’d never admit it. Now he’ll suffer…_

His arms went around the boy’s thin body and pulled him close, pressing him flat against his chest. His fingers trailed up the younger’s back and into his braided hair, eventually coming to rest on either side of Alin’s face.

“I want you to promise me that you won’t do anything stupid once I’m gone,” the prince asked, tilting the other’s chin up. “Promise me that you won’t put yourself in harm’s way. Yes?” Alin’s eyes were oddly unmoving, as if he was afraid to blink now, and he only nodded slowly, barely breathing. Sadiq leaned in and kissed the boy’s forehead lightly. “You should go back now.”

* * *

 

The raven-haired boy named Nikola completely ignored what the Master of Grace and Fine Arts was currently explaining with emphasis and went to sit down next to his friend, who was lying stretched onto the cushions, staring numbly at the ceiling. It was a gloomy, grey autumn morning and the little light filtering into the room deepened the dark shadows around the other’s eyes.

“You didn’t sleep,” Nikola stated simply, his eyes wandering around to the other boys gathered around the teacher and listening eagerly. “You never told me what he was to you, _sehzade_ Sadiq…”

The Wallachian snorted softly, continuing to chew on his thumbnail absently. “What do you think? I only knew him for a very short time. He only wanted someone to spar with and amused himself at my expense on a couple of occasions too, but at least he didn’t force me into his bed…” He paused, eyes shifting briefly to his friend’s face. “Even if we pretended otherwise, you know. It was a good arrangement and it kept Murat Bey at bay while it lasted.”

“But maybe he’s still alive? Nobody knows anything yet…”

“He’s dead. There were three older princes before him, what chance could he have to be chosen?” Alin murmured, closing his eyes. “I bet Murat Bey is overjoyed now… I know for a fact that he was supporting someone else for the throne.”

Nikola shook his head, finally turning to look at his friend. “No, he’s on edge, just like everyone else. What if his candidate kicked the bucket last night as well? And maybe we should be on edge too.”

“Why?”

“We should find out more about the future Sultan,” the Bulgarian explained in a hushed tone. “You know, what his plans are, what foreign policy he will adopt-”

“What foreign policy could he possibly adopt?! They’re all Turks!” Alin grumbled, scowling. “Maybe _sehzade_ Sadiq was slightly different than the others-…” he accidentally let it escape, but shook his head quickly. “And that’s why he’s dead now. The Sultan probably chose the most ruthless of his sons to-”

“What are you two talking about in such secrecy?”

Nikola flinched, turning abruptly and Alin sat up with a deeper scowl upon discovering the fair Jacob who had crept up on them unnoticed. The seventeen year-old Greek with long blonde hair and azure eyes was the Master of Grace and Fine Arts’ favorite student in more than one way and had copied his teacher’s malice and insidious ways to perfection.

“Awww, Nikola, are you holding your little friend’s hand, now that he so bitterly mourns?” he asked in mockery, leaning down such that the silky curtain of his golden hair nearly brushed the Bulgarian’s cheek. “It’s sad really, because aside from that foolish, tasteless _sehzade_ no one else will want him… Just like no one wants you,” he added with fake compassion.

The brunet snorted and pushed him away. “Sad indeed! Not as sad as what will happen to you when you grow up and that pretty, girlish face is gone, though. You’ll just be sent back to your father in disgrace!”

Jacob straightened his back and lifted his chin proudly. “You idiots! I have spent my days with good use, so when the time comes, I will become _beylerbey (A/N – commander of commanders)_. And then, maybe my Janissary corps will trample your good for nothing principalities and flatten the mud huts the likes of you call houses!”

After a moment of complete silence, during which the Bulgarian stared at him with a perplexed frown, Alin suddenly burst into laughter, finally drawing everyone’s attention on them.

“Jacob, you’re wrong! The day you become _beylerbey_ will be a very lucky day for our principalities,” he pointed. “Because that will be the day the empire of Osman goes to shit! I say we look forward to it!”

“But too bad it’s just a dream, because this empire hasn’t endured for so long by appointing imbeciles at the lead of its armies,” Nikola supplied, crossing his arms.

A vicious expression twisted Jacob’s features at this and he drew back one step, after which a short sword was drawn from under his garments and pointed at the two. The other boys instantly broke into shocked gasps and murmurs, but Murat Bey harshly ordered them to be quiet. Alin threw a quick glance at him past the blond’s frame and saw the cold determination in the courtier’s eyes.

So, this was it.

He slowly pushed Nikola out of the way as he stood up and nodded slowly, all traces of a smile gone from his face. The Greek looked smug and sure of himself with the blade in his hand and Alin snorted bitterly. Then he lunged forward abruptly, dodging the tip of the sword in his way and headbutted Jacob full in the face with such violence that the blond staggered back on his feet, blood instantly gushing from the broken nose. Before he could recover, Alin punched him swiftly in the jaw and stomach for good measure, snatched the sword from his hand and then grabbed a handful of that wonderful golden hair, twisting it around his fist and forcing the Greek down on his knees.

Meanwhile Murat Bey was watching the scene with an unreadable expression, his dark eyes betraying nothing as his gaze trailed from his favorite – who was disheveled and with a confused look on his bloodied face as he was kneeling at the Wallachian’s feet – to the blade now held by a steady hand under Jacob’s chin.

“Alin, let him go! You’ll be in big trouble, he’s not worth it!” Nikola pleaded, grabbing his friend’s arm and trying to pry it away. “I think he’s learned-”

Suddenly a distant bell resounded somewhere in the palace premises and the courtier, who had seemed to be waiting for this, smiled a small, wicked smile.

“You should go look out the windows, boys,” he said. “It’s an important tradition of ours. Now they’ll be taking out the princes, you’d better not miss this...”

He remained motionless on his spot as the students rushed to the grated windows, curious, and even Alin released Jacob’s hair and allowed him to drop and curl on the ground, moaning. The Wallachian drew back towards the window behind him and turned his head. Outside, in the main interior yard, a crowd of courtiers had gathered with their heads bowed, also waiting. Then, _bostangi_ emerged from under the eaves of one of the buildings carrying a row of coffins, each covered in the ceremonial black cloth embroidered with gold.

Alin stared, gaze drawn hypnotically by the deep, unforgivable, suffocating black of the silk covering the princes’ coffins, onto which the Ottoman half moon was glittering sinisterly.

“Fourteen coffins,” Murat Bey clarified, with obvious satisfaction. “And your _sehzade_ is in one of them.”

The boy’s face crumpled for a brief moment, his back still turned, and his vision became blurry with sudden tears which were quickly blinked back as he gritted his teeth in a feral fashion and snorted. His fingers clenched around the hilt of Jacob’s sword and he turned on his heels, weighing the weapon impatiently in his hand.

“I wonder what you mean to say with that, Murat _efendim_ ,” Alin said, lifting his chin. “Is this how you show your loyalty to the Osman dynasty, by rejoicing in the deaths of its sons? By instigating quarrels between the royal hostages? How dare you?! Aren’t you just one of the Sultan’s slaves, like everyone else in this palace?!”    

The Master of Grace and Fine Arts darkened in the face at the insulting words, all the more since all the other students were watching him intently now, intrigued by the Wallachian’s words. “Look at yourself, you filthy, rabid dog infidel!” he spat viciously. “How dare you make a mockery of this great court with your twisted tongue?! I _will_ have you whipped this time, and there’s no one-”

“My head might end up on a spike down there for all I care, but you will join the princes in your Ottoman hell, because I will slit your throat like I did with the mutes you sent!” Alin informed him, taking a step forward and pointing the tip of the blade towards the teacher’s chest.

Murat Bey took a step back, eyes widening, and opened his mouth, ready to shout for the guards, but in the next moment the double doors flew open, pushed by two _bostangi_.

 _“Destuuuul! Sehzade_ Sadiq _hazretleri!”_

In the split second it took the prince to enter the room, the courtier’s horror increased tenfold and the sword disappeared behind Alin’s back, the beastly expression on his face replaced by an innocent, demure smile.

“Murat Bey, you should be more careful as to how you deliver news these days, my new responsibilities will not allow me to save you from now on...”

Sadiq sauntered without rush past the stunned Master of Grace and Fine Arts, sighing as he took in the mess a _certain someone_ had made yet again - Jacob still curled up on the floor moaning and crying – and wrapped an arm around his favorite’s waist, smoothly taking the sword from him with the other hand and tsking.

“What did I tell you, _your highness_? Hmm?” he scolded the otherwise genuinely baffled Wallachian, pulling him close. “What am I going to do with you?” The prince leaned in closer and buried his nose into the boy’s hair, then pressing a kiss onto his temple. “You were worried about me?” he asked softly.

Alin’s eyes were wide and still disbelieving as he stared up into the other’s green ones, and the prince thought he looked like a man suddenly awoken from a bad dream, still shaken by the nightly terrors . “But how-…?” he whispered. “The others are-… we saw…”

“I have absolutely no idea what happened and it has been a very long night,” Sadiq whispered back, shaking his head. “But I’m here now, _your highness_ , there’s no need for you to worry anymore… and raise all hell,” he added with a smirk, brushing his thumb against the boy’s chalk-white cheek.

“I wasn’t worried about you, _efendim_ ,” Alin murmured, eyes closing tiredly as he slumped against the other’s chest. “And you haven’t seen hell…”

**THE END**

A/N – Yep, make what you will of this ending… ;)

Destuuuul! Sehzade Sadiq hazretleri! – Make way! His Greatness, prince Sadiq!


End file.
